


A Thousand Little Lives

by Stariceling



Category: Welcome to Hell - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - The Little Mermaid, Blood, Bloodlust, Crossover, Death, Drift Incompatible OTP, Drowning, Ficlet Collection, Gen, M/M, Nightmares, The Drift (Pacific Rim)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-21 05:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stariceling/pseuds/Stariceling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of scattered alternate universes. Because I love writing random bits here and there but for the most part feel guilty posting the scraps alone.</p><p>I have sort of a pet theory that Sock and Jonathan were meant to meet, even if one of them dies first. (Maybe Sock kills for Jonathan. Or maybe he just plain kills Jonathan. Maybe once in a while they find something like common ground.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pacific Rim AU: Black and White and Red all over

**Author's Note:**

> Just some possible AUs I wanted to dip into. Most of these will likely not be finished. (And now I've said that one of them will likely torment me until it gains a full plot but not _most_ of them at least.) Because it is currently my hobby to write first chapters of these things. Lots of 'when Sock met Jonathan' in different settings.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan and Sock are not drift compatible, but that doesn't stop Sock from trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why I wrote this. Is it a thing to explore if random OTPs are drift compatible? If it’s not then it should totally be a thing. I could not resist. These two are the most incompatible soul mates ever and it makes me ridiculously happy.

Jonathan definitely wasn’t drift compatible with Sowachowski. . . “Sock. . .” that creepy cheerful guy who followed him around all the time. He didn’t know how to think about Sock since they had attempted the drift. Worse, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him. It felt like yanking the plug so suddenly had left a piece of Sock inside his mind.

Every time he tried to sleep it led to bouts of sleep paralysis and a vivid red dream of Sock cutting him open to see what was inside. His normally comfortable grey dreams were gone, leaving him so tired he could swear he was starting to hallucinate Sock hanging around him all the time.

“Hey, why have you been avoiding me?”

Jonathan blinked his way out of his daydream to find Sock perched on his chair. Now he was definitely seeing things. He threw one arm over his eyes with a groan.

“Jonathan, come on!”

“Go away. You’re not real.”

Sock countered that idea by pinching his arm. It worked as proof for now, since the weird carnage dreams never hurt.

“How did you get in here?”

“I think the more important question is: Why are you in here? Everything’s set up so we can drift together again.”

“Are you kidding? I’m supposed to be a technician. I’m not getting in a Jaeger with you. That’s suicide.”

Biting his lip rather than answering, Sock fixed him with pitifully hopeful eyes.

“Are you going to leave?” Jonathan asked after a long moment of silence, even though he could already guess the answer.

Sock tickled Jonathan’s nose with the tip of his scarf. “Hey, what color is this?”

“It’s red. Now get it out of my face!”

“I was just wondering if you were color blind. All your memories flashed by in black and white.”

“You’re not supposed to be focusing on my memories.” Jonathan was sure there was nothing in his brain that would set him apart from anyone else, so why did it feel like Sock had invaded the privacy his solitary life?

“You were watching mine.” Sock shifted from the chair to the edge of Jonathan’s bed, leaning over him with a worryingly bright smile. “But I’ll tell you all my secrets if you want, so you won’t flinch next time.”

“It’s a modesty reflex,” Jonathan muttered.

“Not really. You flinched away from _me_.”

Sock flopped down across Jonathan’s chest. He hooked one arm around Jonathan’s shoulder, twisting to smile up at him.

“There’s this thing called _personal space_ , haven’t you heard of it!?”

“Come on, Jonathan, a little drifting never hurt anyone.”

Jonathan could think of some obvious examples to the contrary. More to the point, he was still unsettled from being in Sock’s head. Sock looked so young. He was happy and energetic and got along with everyone who crossed his path. But when Jonathan got a glimpse inside he found a vision soaked in gleeful red. He experienced Sock’s hidden age in his experience as a scavenger and a survivor, and felt the rush of desires long held back. The drive to kill Kaiju was ubiquitous here, but what he felt from Sock went beyond that. The blood Sock imagined dipping his hands in wasn’t blue.

He didn’t want to feel anyone else’s thoughts mingling with his own, but Sock’s had to be the worst. Yet when he pushed Sock off, trying to reclaim at least half of his own bed as his territory, he heard himself say, “Fine. Tell me what to expect, just get off of me.”

Drifting with Sock again was only way he could think of to get the homicidal boy out of his head.


	2. Pirate AU: Call Me Jonathan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the crew sees Sock as a disturbingly cheerful mad dog. Jonathan doesn’t see anything worth worrying about. (implied Sock/Jonathan, one-sided implied Zack/Jonathan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because ping brought up pirate AU and my head was full of stupid-cute almost domestic pirate boys where Jonathan is the only one not scared of Sock and has to look after the happy little berserker. Sadly not really a domestic pirates fic. More like an introduction.
> 
> Also I don't know what the warning for this is, but if insects in food wig you out. Yeah. That's mentioned in here. Sorry.

There had been a discussion about tying their unstable berserker to the mast, but once they tied his hands he seemed content to sit against the rail where they left him. He was a little too cheerful to be sulking, though it was hard to tell with him. He always seemed to be cheerful, especially when it was most inappropriate.

Jonathan watched him for several minutes, absentmindedly gnawing on the salt-cured meat that made up most of their remaining rations. The rest of the crew were grumbling, telling bad jokes, practically twitching with that weird tension that came before anything actually happened. Whereas this kid was staring off into the distance with a silly smile, humming to himself. After stabbing one of his crew mates several times with a fork. He was just off, violent and carefree in somehow the wrong way compared to every other violent and carefree member of the crew.

He was also one of their best weapons, and they were aiming to intercept within the next day or two. With a frustrated grunt, Jonathan grabbed the last ration of sea cracker and salt junk the others had been talking about splitting and brought it over to where Sock was sitting. The protest that started up immediately went silent behind him.

It was disturbingly silent when he picked up the bit of sea biscuit and shoved it in Sock’s face. Even Sock had stopped humming to stare at him. Jonathan stared flatly back. He looked like a cute little kid, though no one seemed to know how old he really was, or his real name for that matter. They just knew he was ‘Sock’ and he probably hadn’t been younger than twelve when he signed onto Mephistopheles’ crew four years ago. He was eccentric, dressing in colorful but ill-fitting clothes stolen from his victims, which was probably where some of those old blood stains came from. His vest has fresh dots of blood spotted on it from his earlier fight. It almost fit him right, keeping the too-loose silk shirt trapped close to his body. Under that he wore a purple skirt, ragged enough that it was up around his thighs. Jonathan assumed that whoever tried to bother him about his fashion choices would be the first to be stabbed.

Sock was still staring at him, a smile twitching nervously at his lips.

“Don’t you want to eat?”

At least that got Sock to take a bite of the dry biscuit dangling in his face. Unfortunately that set off a flurry of activity which had Jonathan swearing and shaking it in his hand, having to brush a dislodged weevil off of Sock’s chin with his other hand. Because of course there were still pests in there, they were in nearly every scrap of food on this ship. Sock just chewed, grinning to himself as Jonathan picked the offending insects out, and leaned forward to gnaw off another big bite before he was even done.

Jonathan didn’t know what to think of the way Sock was looking him over, but he decided he was committed to this job and didn’t care. Sock swallowed thickly, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Water?” Jonathan offered, holding up the canteen at his side.

“Yes please,” Sock chirped. He wiggled closer, puppyish, out of place with the old bloodstains.

Jonathan carefully tipped a few sips of water into Sock’s mouth, not wanting to drown him. Then he noticed Sock’s hands raised between them to take the canteen. He froze, and Sock slowly folded his hands in his lap again with a disarming grin.

“I’m pretty sure we tied your hands behind your back.”

“Yeah. I was uncomfortable.”

Jonathan looked him up and down, confused. His hands were still tied, just in front of him now. Was Sock just that flexible?

Sock smirked at him. “So you know why this is dangerous?” He clenched his hands together like he was holding something long and thin and thrust them forward in a stabbing motion. “Good.”

Jonathan tapped the biscuit on his lips to get him to finish it. He didn’t see a reason why he needed to do anything about it. It wasn’t like Sock was going to attack him during lunch.

Well, probably not, anyway. “Why’d you stab Zack?” The guy had been hazing Jonathan since he set foot on the ship, but he hadn’t done anything that warranted a stabbing, especially towards Sock.

“Because I wanted to.”

“Yeah, so you have poor impulse control. What’d he do to make you stab him?”

“I just felt like it.” Sock shrugged. “And I haven’t gotten to make anyone bleed in a long time, so why not?” He wet his lips, shivering a little where he sat. “Don’t you think it’s fun? Getting to cut into people, spill their blood-”

Jonathan cut off his murderous little rant by shoving a strip of the salt pork between his lips. “Never mind. Shut up and eat your junk.”

Sock gnawed a piece of meat free with his unnaturally sharp teeth, letting the rest fall into his lap as he applied himself to the task of actually chewing it. Jonathan picked up the last bit of his own lunch and they chewed salty leather together in an almost companionable silence.

“Don’t I make you uncomfortable?” Sock asked, after gulping down his mouthful.

“I guess, kinda.” Jonathan shrugged. What made him more uncomfortable was he was kind of used to Sock at this point, the bloodthirsty berserker who might be childish and cute but that was all just part of his devilish game. Now Sock really was being childish and cute, like it wasn’t an act at all. His soft, round face didn’t hold a single line of malice. Big, innocent-seeming eyes stared up at Jonathan. He was worrying his lower lip between his teeth. Anyone else Jonathan would have thought they looked shy, even frightened. Jonathan wanted to tell him to cut it out. What could the scariest thing on a bloody pirate ship possibly be afraid of?

“Then why are you feeding me?”

“Because you should be ready when we intercept someone. I don’t know.” It seemed like a good idea at the time. “It seemed like the right thing to do. Water?” he offered, to cover his own embarrassment.

Sock nodded, accepting it, though Jonathan realized with a twinge of annoyance that Sock really could be feeding himself.

“Are you looking forward to it? You know, the fighting? Killing?” Sock started to breathe harder. “You ever get your knife stuck in someone’s bones? Or, oh I hope we get to use fire. It smells like home, with the charring flesh and lit tar-”

“No more than anything else on this ship,” Jonathan cut him off. He really didn’t want to be seeing the engagement through Sock’s eyes, especially not with the chance they were going to live it soon.

Sock shivered, taking a few breaths to slowly calm. “Hey, what’s your name?” he finally asked.

“Jonathan.” Not that anyone called him by his real name after Zack had started referring to him as a ‘lamb.’

“Jonathan,” Sock repeated. “I like that. That’s a good name.”

“What’s your name?” Jonathan asked impulsively.

“Sock.”

“That’s seriously your real name?”

He didn’t think he was actually going to get a real name out of Sock, but then it came in a stubborn little voice, “Napoleon Maxwell Sowachowski.” His glare just dared Jonathan to laugh.

Of course Jonathan burst out laughing anyway. It was too ridiculous. It was too much, and for this bouncy little killer, no less.

Sock dove at him, shoving him down on his back while he was helpless with laughter. Fists twisted in his shirt. Sock’s face was going red with rage over him. He could hear scuffling sounds and voices that meant someone was probably considering if they should save him from being murdered. He didn’t care. He couldn’t stop laughing, like some kind of hysteria bottled up from months of silence and stress and not giving a fuck that just cracked open at something too absurd to handle.

“Shut up!”

“I can see why you go by ‘Sock,’” Jonathan wheezed.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

“You haven’t grown into that name even a little bit, have you?”

“Stop laughing! I hate you!”

“So does that make me more or less likely to get stabbed?”

Sock was silent, biting on his lip again, breathing hard, but making no move to offer Jonathan bodily harm.

Jonathan wedged his elbows under himself and managed to sit up. Sock let him, sliding off of his chest to sit back, fuming silently.

“Sorry,” Jonathan managed, fighting down the last weak chuckles.

“I hate being mocked,” Sock seethed. “I hate it more than anything and I hate you!”

“Yeah, well,” Jonathan looked him up and down again; the outsized, mismatched clothes, the soft baby face, the fact that he could be vibrating with rage and still oddly cute, not to mention when he was cheerful and excitable and clumsy. . . “I think that’s going to happen no matter what you do. At least in this line of work people underestimating you is their problem, not yours.”

To his surprise that seemed to take some of the wind out of Sock’s sails. He glared away at the deck, rather than at Jonathan, for what it was worth.

“So, you going to stab me in my sleep?”

“I might,” Sock muttered, like a sulky child. “No, I. . . not when you’re sleeping. I want you to feel it.”

Jonathan snorted. He couldn’t help himself. It didn’t sound any different than the relationship he’d probably had with Sock from the minute they met. “Sounds good to me. Here, finish this. If I have to eat any more of this crap my teeth are going to fall out.”

Sock favored him with an extremely suspicious look, but leaned forward to gnaw off another bite of his meat ration.

Jonathan hear a sudden spate of swearing behind him, then the sound of pounding footsteps on the deck. A little late for a rescue, he thought cynically. In a moment Zack was beside him, trying to pull him back from Sock. Apparently he had finally been released from the doctor’s care.

“Did he hurt you?”

Jonathan craned his neck back to see Zack’s worried face. He had the nickname of ‘black sheep’ after being involved in some sort of mutiny while he was in the navy. He was a hardass on the gun deck, but otherwise aggressively friendly and inclined to tease. That was about all Jonathan knew about their master gunner. He’d never seen him look so freaked out. Apparently Sock just had that effect.

“What are you doing over here, little lamb?” he asked in that weird, mockingly fond way he had sometimes. Jonathan didn’t know why it felt odd to him, only that Zack didn’t treat any of the other gunners like that. It wasn’t like the odd favoritism or hazing was hurting him in any way.

“I’m fine. We didn’t have orders to starve him, so.” He shrugged.

Sock was watching their exchange with undisguised interest. When Jonathan gave him a look he actually opened his mouth to be fed with a hopeful little, “ah.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Jonathan muttered, as he picked up the last bite for Sock. He wasn’t prepared to have Sock surge forward so he felt the brush of lips and a tongue lapping at his fingertips. Zack grabbed his wrist to yank his hand back, but by then it was already over and Sock hadn’t exactly bitten him.

Sock was grinning at he shifted the tough meat in his mouth so he could talk. “Most people wouldn’t get their hands that close to my mouth.”

“Yeah, I can see why, with those shark teeth of yours.”

Sock only grinned wider, showing them off. He didn’t seem to care that Zack was boosting Jonathan up and trying to forcefully guide him away.

“You’re not going to untie me?” Sock whined.

“If I was going to do that, I’d’ve skipped feeding you. I’m sure you’ll be let loose when there’s someone you’re actually supposed to stab.”

Zack’s arm was tight around his shoulder, as if he couldn’t take a hint to get moving. “You have to know he’s dangerous, sweet lamb.”

Jonathan just rolled his eyes because yes, fine, he got it. He was the baby of the crew and near useless on deck in a battle and oh so soft and innocent compared to Zack. And now he probably got points in being naive for coddling Sock.

“Jonathan,” Sock called after him, making him pause and look around. “Jon-a-than~” he pulled it out playfully.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing. I just like your name.” Jonathan didn’t know if he should be offended by the spark in Sock’s eye or the little flash of teeth, but he was sure Sock was making fun of someone.

“Too bad about yours,” Jonathan shot back.

“Hey!”

Jonathan let himself be pulled away, glancing up at the pained look on Zack’s face.

“So, how’s the damage?” he asked, feeling almost guilty for lingering to tease Sock. He couldn’t blame Zack being upset when one of his gunners was messing around with the guy who just stabbed him.

“Not as bad as it could have been, with him.” His hand rubbed up and down Jonathan’s arm, as if Jonathan needed consoling. “We shouldn’t let him have anything sharp anymore.”

Jonathan glanced back to find Sock still watching him. He got a bright smile in return. It was impossible to guess what was going through Sock’s head.

“Somehow I don’t think that’d stop him.”


	3. Mermaid AU: The Siren Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected introduction. Sock discovers something he might love as much as drowning hapless victims.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from the kink meme: Sock is a mermaid who loves to drown people and Jon is his prince. except for Sock Jon is the siren who tempts him in too close to land with music.

Bubbles tickled Sock’s face and he had to laugh. The human struggled in his embrace. They struck out blindly, making Sock lose his grip, and surged out of his arms towards the surface.

Sock darted behind the human and wrapped both arms around their chest. One percussive splash marked a hand clawing up to break the surface, but then Sock pulled back and with a few powerful kicks of his tail was pulling his new victim down again.

They finally opened their mouth to the water. A last scream escaped, captured in a cloud of bubbles, and they gasped in water instead. Their struggles weakened, and then shuddered into stillness.

Sock relaxed back, sinking lazily under the dead weight laying on him. He cradled the body tenderly against himself, stroking soft hair that feathered in the water out like a halo. Blood billowed from a split lip, where Sock had laid a goodbye kiss. The tense curl of want in Sock’s gut relaxed at last, and he let himself go limp under the weight of death.

He drifted deeper, sensing the pressure of new movements in the water around him. Something large had caught the scent of blood. Someone more dangerous than sharks would be sensing the departure of a human soul and soon come to collect. Sock didn’t particularly fear either predator.

Rolling over, Sock finally released the body and let it drift down out of sight. One more human corpse, like a drop of water in the ocean.

He stretched and relaxed in contentment. A lazy kick of his tail sent him off again, seeking warmer water near the surface. His mind was blank with sweet bliss. Little concerns like food and rest and the nagging of tender bruises gained while having his fun could only nibble around the edges. Sock let himself ignore them in favor of drifting thoughtlessly on the current. He would worry about things later. Soon enough he would be craving a new victim.

* * *

Evening was a good time to hunt. The crowds thinned out, but some humans might still linger near the water, or at least close enough to be enticed by curiosity. It looked like no one was out tonight, as Sock cruised up and down a sparsely inhabited stretch of shoreline. That was fine. He didn’t really need someone. The pull of desire hadn’t yet returned to cramp his muscles and coil his insides with the need to strike out and drag some human to him. He was just looking.

Sock poked his head up out of the water to get one last look and caught the sound of music humming through the air. There was a soft strum of chords that reverberated across the lapping waves, and Sock paused, listening, before swimming on in search of the source.

He didn’t have to go far. Sand sloped up to dirt sloped up to rock, and perched on the rock was a young man. He sat with one leg tucked up, cradling his instrument in his lap and coaxing mellow purrs from the strings of it. The setting sun behind him blotted his silhouette in blinding red, so that Sock would have missed him if not for the music.

The human might be out of reach, but he wasn’t too far to be tempted closer. Sock coughed water out of his throat, preparing to show off his own approximation of music with the siren call that had tempted so many humans in for the kill.

Another voice beat him to it. Mellow and sweet, the young man’s voice suddenly rose to tangle in the cords and drifted down to land in Sock’s ears.

Without a sound, Sock closed his mouth and dropped his head low enough to be breathing water again. He didn’t want to call. He didn’t want to interrupt. He never wanted that music to end. That voice was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

Sock drifted forward from the comparative safety of deep water up to where sand sloped close under the waves. He wanted to hear more. He wanted the waves to stop lapping at the rocks and hissing along the sand. He wished unmitigated horrors on the gulls that dared voice their complaints at the fading day. He needed to hear.

As Sock slid as close as he dared, flattening himself in shallow water, the last tender notes rang through the air. They seemed to whisper in his ears long after he knew the music had stopped, and for a minute he was disoriented with longing for more.

When the music started again it was different, ringing chords struck faster and louder, the tender voice rougher and harder, words spat out with an intoxicating passion.

Sock moved dangerously far up the beach. He knew better, he knew he would never reach what he wanted, but it was so hard to care. He knew better, but when an enthusiastic wave shoved him along he let himself go with it without thinking.

The wave fell back without him, and suddenly Sock found himself exposed high on the sand, the water lapping around his tail fins. He tried to squirm back in a panic, but the sand didn’t let him get far.

Waves wet his tail and receded again, deserting him. Sock dug his hands into the sand, feeling it grate at the webbing between his fingers, and pushed backwards with all his strength. The push barely shifted him. He thrashed his tail, but backwards was apparently not a direction he could propel himself.

He didn’t even notice when the music stopped, caught up in trying to drag himself around to face the ocean. If he could at least stick his head in the water, he would be able to breathe. He coughed water, struggled and failed not to inhale. Dry air burned the inside of his nose, his throat, hissed agony across his collapsing gills.

Sock clawed at the sand, thrashed against it, and at last managed to inch his way closer to the teasing edge of the water.

Vibrations pounded through the sand into his body, but he thought it was just the throbbing of his own heart until hands abruptly seized him.

Sock thrashed, more like a landed fish than ever, and almost got free. The hands wouldn’t let him go. He lost all traction with the sand as he was yanked into the air and carried, disoriented, gasping air with a mindless desperation that only led to pain.

Water suddenly closed over his head. Sock gasped in a deep breath in surprise, and the sweet brine of the ocean flooded into his mouth. He hacked out air in strings of bubbles and breathed in again. His gills were throbbing masses of agony as water ran over them, but he could breathe at last.

It took a moment to catch his breath and move past the luxury of breathing. Sock was aware of a hand under his chest and another cradling his hips. The human he had been listening to was crouched beside him, holding him at a comfortable depth in the water.

Sock was still and the hands under him remained still. They didn’t move when he turned in the water to gaze up at his human rescuer. Not even when he lifted his head, peeking out above the surface for a better look.

“Are you okay?”

Sock flinched, darting his head back beneath the surface. The hands remained steady under him. Their grip was loose enough he could have slipped free fast as a thought.

He had never been so close to a human without immediate violence. Sock poked his head up again, breathing slowly and just studying the face hanging over him.

Without the sunset to paint bloody tones across him, all of his color seemed washed out. He was dressed in gray and his body hardly had more color, with pale hair and wan skin. Soft blue hid in eyes half-hidden under drooping eyelids and underscored by dark bruises. He had a jutting chin and lips pressed razor thin. There was something Sock liked in the serious set of his face.

Sock reached up, slow and cautious, feeling the man’s eyes track his hand, and dared a delicate touch on his chest. Nothing happened.

For a few heartbeats Sock was still, then he reached further to touch the man’s throat. Nothing happened so he tapped his fingers there again, then moved further still to touch one finger to his lips.

“Do you need something?” he asked, with that same perfect voice that had enticed Sock with its singing. That was what he needed, to hear the voice he had foolishly beached himself for.

Was this how humans felt when they were entranced and caught? Sock was determined he didn’t like this feeling, but at the same time he desperately did.

“Can you even understand me?”

Sock nodded. He turned himself in the water, slipping out of that lose grip and rising up so that he had to hold his breath again, grabbing handholds on the man’s clothes to pull himself higher.

“What are you doing?”

Sock wrapped his arms around the man’s neck in a hug. He hung there, clinging, pressing his face up against that soft throat.

“Seriously? You don’t have to. . .” A sigh drifted out to dry and cool his cheek, “Okay, hi. You’re welcome.” A few awkward pats landed on his back. “My name’s Jonathan. What’s yours?”

The name sounded foreign to Sock, all broad vowels and humming, but he loved the way it vibrated in Jonathan’s throat.

He was caught by that voice. It made him throw all reason away, to the point where he would throw himself unthinking into the air just to get closer to it. He loved the way it purred in his ears and in his gut.

But he hated being caught.

Sock gripped Jonathan’s shoulders and threw himself backwards, kicking out with his tail to knock Jonathan’s legs from under him and dragging the well-meaning human down into the water with him. He gripped the back of Jonathan’s head to hold him down. Even in water only a few feet deep it was possible to drown.

Jonathan thrashed like a landed fish. He tried to shove Sock off with open hands, legs tucked under him as he struggled to stand. Sock watched with helpless fascination as he fought to hold Jonathan down.

Air escaped Jonathan’s mouth, and the garbled sound he made underwater was no different from the panicked scream of any other drowning human. Sock felt his hands slipping in spite himself.

Jonathan surged to his feet, head breaking the surface so he could gasp for air. Sock darted out of reach in the same instant, striking for deeper water to hide.

When he rose back to the surface, Jonathan was stumbling up out of reach of the waves. He turned back, caught sight of Sock staring longingly at him over the small stretch of water, and shouted, “What is wrong with you?”

“I want you,” Sock answered, knowing full well that the sound of his voice would never cross from water into air.

With no answer, Jonathan stormed up the beach, off of the sand and up to dirt, across dirt and over the small fall of rocks, and finally out of Sock’s sight.

Being caught, Sock decided, was definitely awful. It scared him that he shivered inside wanting to hear that voice again and knowing he probably never would. He had wanted humans before, of course. All his life he had wanted to catch them. But he had never wanted anything with them but to drown them. He had never before wanted a specific human, and he had absolutely never wanted to let one back into the air once he caught them.

Sock lingered for a long time, watching just in case Jonathan returned. He had let Jonathan up into the air again. It felt deeply unfair to have done that and then be denied that siren voice.


End file.
